I trusted those holes and they betrayed me.

I had an insanely disappointing experience with maccarroni and cheese this morning.

I just know my whole day is going to be ruined.

You see, there is a very specific, albeit intuition-based, science to making boxed mac n cheese. I violated that on so many levels today. I really deserve the tragedy that befell me, but my acceptance of that doesn’t remove my disappointment nor make my tummy any more full of mac n cheese.

First, a little history. I had my first experiences with boxed mac n cheese with Lyndsey. It was one of the few things as growing insatiable middle schoolers we could cook on our own. Since I was always over at Lyndsey’s house, she was in charge of the cooking. She made it just right that first time, setting my expectations high. Amazing. However, that was apparently where she lucked out because on subsequent occasions she burnt, undercooked, or (the worst) flooded the mac n cheese.

I took on all mac n cheese cooking responsibilities from there.

I tried out different brands of boxed mac n cheese dinners. Even those single-serving ones by Kraft. Disgusting. But then all Kraft mac n cheese is gross. Add water? Really? Ew. I found Kroger mac n cheese to be the best.

Since then I’ve loved the stuff and decoded the exact, eye-balled amount of milk to tip into the pan and the heaping spoonful of Country Crock to add to the salted noodles and bio-hazard-orange cheese. It’s fucking magical.

But this morning it all came crashing down on me like so many unopened boxes of the stuff.

Too much milk. I flooded it. The worst.

There’s no going back once you flood mac n cheese because you don’t realize it’s happened until after you start to stir and you can see the milky, pale orange water collecting on the bottom of the pan behind every stir. By then half of the cheese mixture is just gone unless you’re willing to drink the stuff. You desperately try to stir harder, hoping it’s going to thicken, but in vain. You know it won’t. With every mix of the spoon it just gets worse. You’ve coated the noodles thinly, that cunnilingus-resembling sound that Jo Koy talks about is nonexistent, and you know there’s only one possible salvage technique that’s going to leave what was once going to be a steamy, glorious lunch as a sub-par snack: you’ve got to drain it.

Draining never works that well–you have less flavor and no thickness. But you’ll do anything to avoid sipping at cheese water. My problem was in my pot choice. I was lazy this morning–a victim of my own devices. I used the black pot which has no lid but was clean instead of just washing the red one with the non-ill-fitting lid with built-in draining holes. Now, I drained the boiling water with this lid, but that was with the severe concentration of my hungry, giddy, middle-school-minded self. Now, as I held the slightly-too-big-cover just at the edge of the pot I was a jaded, 22-year-old, unemployed college grad about to eat watery mac n cheese for breakfast at 2:42 in the afternoon.

Life sucked.

And then my futile grip, and ergo my will to go on, gave way, and two thirds of the orange, liquid mess rained down on a sink already filled to its brim with dishes. I wanted to scream out in anguish, to berate the sky with the sorrow and anger ready to burst forth from me, but The Boyfriend was asleep having worked overnight, so instead I cursed the lid for its inadequacy in the hushed tones of a stage whisper:

“You fucking fuck. I cannot fucking believe this shittiness. What a dick move, lid. Seriously. You are an asshole. A total fucking asshole. A cocksucker of epic proportions. Ser-i-ous-ly. I hope you suck cocks in hell when you die, and I hope you hate it. For real, lid. I am not even playing anymore. Fuck you and fuck your holes. All of them. Both sides. The big holes and the little holes. What, you thought I’d take mercy on the little holes because they’re little? Fuck no I won’t. I trusted those holes and they betrayed me like little fucking betraying betrayers. I am not even going to let anything cool down even a tiny bit ever again before using you to strain stuff. I’m serious. You suck.”

I was pretty upset.

Left with half of a cereal bowl worth of thinly-coated, watery, orange noodle soup that vaguely smelled of the former glory I had envisioned, I thought I could add some shredded cheese to it to give it some thickness. It was still hot enough to melt it anyway. I only had Mexican blend in the fridge, but I really enjoy Mexican cheese, so it couldn’t hurt, right? Fucking wrong! It was awful. Too salty, greasy, and the flavors were just off.

So I had some toast, which is pretty hard to fuck up, and called it a meal. The barrage of noodles is still all over the dishes in the sink. I have to go clean that shit up now.

The whole thing was just so disappointing. I mean, I ate it, but I was not happy about it.